The first line of storms has passed, leaving puddles on the ramp. The weather radar depicts a sizeable hole devoid of precip to the west, our intended direction of flight; after an eyeball check to verify the existence of this hole we elect to depart before the next squall line moves through. We are not alone in this judgement; the pilot's lounge empties of several other groups who have also been waiting out the weather. Winds on the surface are light out of the east but judging by the scattered low clouds tearing away to the north there's a strong south wind aloft, feeding into the receding storms.